“Then why are you putting this distance between us? We left civil manners and politeness behind when we…” She dared not finish.
“Made love? Yes, I thought we had, but then I discovered you were St. Albans’s granddaughter and I couldn’t take advantage of you.”
She put a hand on his chest, and he tensed. “But you aren’t taking advantage.” His hand curled around her wrist, but he didn’t pull her palm off his waistcoat. His fingers rubbed against the pulse point below her palm.
“I am not accustomed to being a gentleman, Philippa. St. Albans would be the first to tell you I have been quite scandalous in the past.”
“I don’t care,” she insisted.
“Oh, but you should, my darling.” Beau whispered. “It’s so very dangerous for you to be alone with me.”
Philippa saw a tempting darkness in his gaze and for the first time, she also saw the rakehell he had professed to be. Before, he had cared for her, protected her, but now she was seeing the side that wanted her.
“I thought you were afraid of me,” she confessed, staring at his lips.
“Afraid of you? No darling, afraid for you. The night I claimed you, I’ve been haunted by your essence. Your scent, your sweet sighs as I kissed you, the feel of you gripping me as our bodies came together in the firelight.” He let go of her wrist, but only so he could curl his hand around her waist.
“A man like me has hungers. I have needs you may find too strong to be satisfied.” His hand slid lower, starting to pull up at her skirts. Breathless excitement rippled through her at the thought of them having only these few minutes alone before someone would look for them.
“Aren’t you afraid, Philippa?” Beau’s tone spoke of rough passion beneath the alluring sweetness.
“No,” she said, but in truth she was nervous. She was new to this, new to opening herself up to experiences like this.
“As my wife, you would be subjected to all my desires. I can take you anywhere I please, any way I please.” Beau stroked his fingertips along her bare thigh above her stockings and a sudden, desperate desire made her whimper. But he didn’t stop. Instead, he lowered his head to her neck, kissing up to the shell of her ear just as he rubbed at her folds with one finger. He stroked her gently, then thrust that finger into her, driving her mad with desire. He didn’t stop the teasing little love bites on her ear lobe as he continued to push her to the point of pleasurable pain with his intimate caress.
“Beau, please…” she whispered.
“Please stop?” The satisfaction in his eyes confused her. He wanted her to make him stop? To be afraid of him?
He started to pull away, his hand slipping out from under her skirts, and smiled down at her as though he’d won some battle she hadn’t known they were fighting. But she wasn’t afraid of him or her desire. She wanted all of him if she was to marry him, but it seemed he didn’t want her the same way. Pain lanced her heart, so hard that for a moment she couldn’t catch her breath. She had thought he desired her and promised to try to love her, but even that had been asking too much of him now it seemed.
“I see now that you are too much of a gentleman to cry off, so allow me do it for you. You are released from our engagement and from all promises you have made to me.”
The triumphant gleam in his eyes instantly vanished. “Philippa, I didn’t” He stopped short, closed his eyes and then blew out a deep breath. “I am sorry.”
“You need not be. I was a fool to fall in love with you. I knew from the start that you would not love me back. This is my fault. I can accept responsibility.”
A new gleam grew in his eyes that was just as intense but softer somehow. “You…love me?”
“How could I not?” She choked down a bitter laugh and tried to push him away from her. He stood too close. His tall body made her yearn for things that would only break her heart.
Beau did not let her escape. He pushed her gently back against the door and cupped her face in both of his hands.
“You love me, even when I try to push you away?” he asked.
“Love is love, Beau. It doesn’t obey the limitations placed upon it by others. A heart loves whom it loves, against all odds. Against all reason.” She didn’t want to confess this to him, but the words spilled out of their own volition.
“You truly love me? Despite my faults and foolish behavior?”
Tears clung to her lashes. “Please, don’t torture me any further. Go. I shall make the necessary excuses to the duke and tell him to cancel the wedding.”
Beau’s sensual mouth hardened. “We aren’t calling it off. You and I will stand together in St. George’s tomorrow and bind our lives together.”
“No. You said you would find another way to draw Monmouth out before, so do it some other way.” She pushed at his chest, but he didn’t move an inch. “I won’t let you make our marriage some noble sacrifice to crucify yourself upon.”
“You don’t understand. Marrying you is anything but a sacrifice. In fact, I feel incredibly selfish to want you the way I do. I was afraid from the start you were agreeing to marry me out of some sense of debt you felt you owed me.”
Perhaps that was how it started, but after all that happened, she felt bound to him by something far stronger.
“It is impossible not to love a man like you, even if you are exasperating.” She tried to look away, but he still held her face in his hands.
“Then love me. Let me give you my name, my life even.” Beau breathed in and his words filled her heart with traitorous hope. “I made a promise to try to love you back and at this moment, that promise seems easier than ever to keep.”
“No more pulling away? No more games?” Philippa demanded.
He brushed his thumbs over her cheeks. “No more games. I surrender.”
“Then tomorrow we marry.” She grasped his wrists and he lowered his mouth to hers, claiming her lips in a kiss that melted away all thoughts except one: She was irrevocably in love with him and that was far more dangerous than whatever dark plans her bitter father had in store for her.
Chapter 18
Everyone kept exclaiming all the way to the church that it was a fine day for a wedding, but Philippa was too nervous to enjoy the warmth of the sun. Her nerves had left her exhausted and short of breath. She knew Beau was already waiting at the altar because her grandfather had winked when he casually mentioned it as she and her parents rode towards St George’s. It had been discussed that her father would be spoken of as another old friend of her father’s from the country and would be walking her down the aisle.
“You’re looking a bit pale,” her mother said and touched her cheek. “Don’t fret about the wedding. They go by rather quickly.”
“They certainly do,” her father agreed.
The duke’s eyes filled with concern. “You don’t wish to cry off?”
“No, I want to marry him,” she assured St. Albans. She smoothed her hand in nervous patterns over the kid gloves she had not yet put on. Once they reached the church, her father assisted her and her mother out. The duke and her mother went inside. Philippa stood alone with her father outside the church and tried to control her breath.
“You love this man?” he asked, not for the first time.
“Yes. More than is wise, I’m sure.” She leaned on his arm while they walked into the church together. The murmur of voices dwindled away and soon an organ began to play as they walked down the aisle. The church was nearly full, and she spotted familiar faces in the crowd.
Then her gaze locked on the one man she never expected would be here: Lord Monmouth. She froze. He stared at her, his intense, dark eyes turning her veins to ice. She half expected him to draw a pistol there and then, but he made no move of any kind.
She knew that Lennox and Beau had expected he might attend with his son, but she had secretly hoped he would not. Her frantic gaze sought out Lord Lennox, who stood two rows behind Monmouth. Unlike everyone else in the room, Lennox was not looking at her; his
eyes were fixed on Monmouth.
Lord Lennox won’t let Monmouth hurt you, she tried to remind herself. Beau had assured her that Lennox and several of his friends were all armed and ready to stop Monmouth if he tried anything. She wasn’t a fool. She knew Lennox was hoping Monmouth would do exactly that so they could have one more charge against him.
Philippa turned her focus to Beau, who stood waiting for her. For a moment, there were only the two of them in the gilded, ancient church. She was lost in him, lost with the vision of his whiskey colored eyes, dark hair, and sensual lips that would surely mend her shaken heart. She was caught in a sunny memory of when she’d stolen a few moments alone in the Lennox library to read a book of poetry. Byron had become her favorite and his words now floated to the surface of her memory.
“But once I dared to lift my eyes,
To lift my eyes to thee;
And, since that day, beneath the skies,
No other sight they see.”
He was the only sight she could see just then. He was all that mattered. He would belong to her, and she to him, and a union of their lives would bring them closer together and perhaps…perhaps someday he would love her back. She couldn’t let anything else taint this moment.
She had to trust that Monmouth would not be allowed to act against her, either now or after the wedding.
Her father kissed her cheek and she joined Beau at the altar. Her blue silk gown, trimmed with Belgian lace, let her imagine for one moment that she was the gentle born lady she’d never had a chance to be.
The clergyman conducted the service and Philippa knew she would remember very detail of the ceremony. She focused on Beau’s eyes and the way the light from the stained glass played in mosaic patterns on his dark blue coat. Even the way he smiled as he slipped the ring on her finger and made his vows was forever etched in her heart. She was captivated by him as strongly as the first moment he’d stepped into the doorway of Castleton Abbey to rescue her.
And, just as her mother had predicted, it was over all too soon. Beau pressed a heated kiss to her lips that scandalized the audience with gasps from the ladies and chuckles from the gentlemen. Her head spun and her knees buckled. Beau caught her around the waist before she could fall.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, I think so. I just need a bit of air.” She nodded toward a door at the side of the church which led to a courtyard with some tombstones.
Beau walked with her as Lord Sheridan joined them.
“Everything all right, Boudreaux?” Sheridan’s concerned gaze moved between her and Beau.
“Bridal nerves, my lord,” she apologized. “I simply need a bit of fresh air.”
“Quite understandable.” He followed them out into the courtyard. “My congratulations to you both, by the way.” Sheridan beamed at her before he winked at Beau. “Thanks to you, I won a fair bit of coin.”
Beau chuckled and shook his head. “So, I’ve heard.”
Philippa gently pulled free so she could walk toward the gravestones. She sat down on one of them. Feeling guilty for not being stronger today, she looked at the name etched in the fading rain-smooth stone.
Mr. Edward Morris – Who lived as he loved…greatly.
“My apologies, Mr. Morris, but I can’t seem to catch my breath,” she murmured to the grave. She watched Beau as he laughed and spoke with Lord Sheridan.
Married. I am married to one of London’s most notorious bachelors. She smiled and shook her head at the thought.
A gentle but chilly breeze swept through the graveyard. The fallen leaves tumbled and twitched on the dry grass until several tangled in the hem of her skirts. She stood up and bent to shake the leaves free of the frost blue satin, only to stumble as another wave of dizziness hit her. She tried to call for Beau, but something struck her hard from behind and she crumpled to the ground. Her fingers clutched the dead leaves, crinkling them as she tried desperately to rise to her knees, but she collapsed back to the ground with a whimper.
She clung to consciousness as strong arms gathered her up and carried her behind a large tomb. She rolled her head up, trying to see who’d done this, to make sense of the fuzzy chaos around her. It had to be Lord Monmouth—
“Not so clever, are they?” Lord Sommers mused, looking in the direction of Beau and Sheridan. Then he looked toward a coach parked on the street near the tomb. He carried her to it as the door opened and the footman with the pale angry scar on his face helped Sommers shove her inside. The footman held a pistol on her and she sank back into the cushions, lacking the strength to fight. The coach jerked into motion while she tried desperately to keep her eyes focused on Sommers.
“Did my father have you take me?”
“So, you know the truth now? Good. That’s one less thing I have to explain. No, Cornelius doesn’t know I’m here. After I took care of loose ends, he decided he no longer needed my services. The fool thinks he could hire me to do his dirty work and then walk away, but I have you now and I’ll do with you as I please.”
Lord Monmouth hadn’t planned this?
The coach stopped a short while later and she was dragged from the coach and into a shabby looking building. Sommers gripped her wrist tightly and she was hauled up a flight of stairs and into a set of rented rooms.
“You may put away the pistol, Jean. She is unable to escape.” Sommers smiled cruelly as he released her wrist. “Feeling faint headed, are we?” he asked. “Perhaps a bit dizzy? Short of breath?”
Panic fluttered inside of her as she stared at him in dawning horror. How did he know? Unless…
“Poison, my dear.” He removed something from his coat pocket and held it up for her to see. It was a little blue bottle with a snake drawn upon its label.
“How?” She hadn’t been anywhere near Sommers in days.
Sommers grinned as he held up an inconspicuous silver pin. “Imagine how long it would take for poison to take effect in such a small but assuredly lethal dose… If, say, you were to be pricked by a pin.” He tossed the pin to the floor without a care.
“The seamstress,” Philippa whispered. It had been an accident, or so she’d thought.
“Indeed. The chit was easily bought. And you thought all this time you were safe. I had planned to let you die in Boudreaux’s arms in the midst of your passionate wedding night, but the more I thought of him touching you and how I’d been robbed of that pleasure… Well, I couldn’t allow that. So here we are.” He waved a hand between them.
“I’m not afraid of death,” she said, even though she was afraid, and she was sad not to ever know what it meant to feel Beau’s love in return. She’d clung to such deep hopes, but now they felt so far out of reach.
“What you fear matters little to me. But I do have the power to save you.” He patted his coat pocket. “One should never create a potion that has no antidote. Accidents happen, after all.”
“You have an antidote?” She lunged for him, using the last bit of her strength. But he slapped her hard, sending her reeling back to fall against the bed. Her face burned but she glared at him with all her building fury despite her growing weakness.
“The question you should be asking is what will you do for it?”
Philippa tried to keep her thoughts steady. Lord Sommers liked to play with his victims like a bored cat with a mouse. She needed to play along if she was to survive.
“I’ll do anything,” she replied, her eyes meeting his. She would too, only what he was imagining was far from what she planned. He had no idea how dangerous she could be, if only she had the strength. Too long she’d seen herself as the victim of her own life and circumstances. Now she had everything to fight for, and she would fight to the death for it.
And that death would not be hers.
* * *
“Five hundred pounds?” Beau exclaimed. “That’s a devil of a wager, Sheridan.”
Sheridan laughed. “Trust me, I have wagered on far more scandalous things at a far higher price. At least I�
��m not an obsessive like Brummel. That devil used to bet on raindrops running down a pane of glass.”
Beau laughed. “I hadn’t heard that before.”
“That man bet upon the most ridiculous things, but he was a dandy and a foolish one at that. Any man who values his clothes above good sense is worth knowing.” Sheridan reached into his pocket and retrieved a pocket watch. He checked the time and then glanced about.
“Boudreaux…” Sheridan paled.
“What?” Beau turned to face the courtyard and his heart stopped.
Philippa was gone.
“Philippa!” He ran through the yard, searching behind the large tombs and saw one of her kid gloves lying on the dead grass. He knelt to retrieve it, his gaze darting around the streets. There was no sign of her.
“How did she get taken under our nose? There was no one out here.” Sheridan demanded. “Monmouth is still inside; Ash and Godric are watching him.”
Beau was rooted in place, terror gripping him. She was gone. He didn’t know where to find her. He was… lost.
Sheridan clapped him hard on the shoulder. “Pull yourself together, man. We’ll find her.”
“We will,” he echoed, but bone deep dread was pressing down on his lungs, making breathing next to impossible.
* * *
Cornelius sat in the empty church pew, staring at the altar where minutes ago he watched his daughter get married. A chill prickled down the length of his spine as he had watched her say her vows. It was as if the ghost of Albina had spoken to him through the girl.
“I vow to honor and obey, to love and cherish…” Albina said as she gazed up at him…
So trusting, so in love, and so confident he had loved her in return. She’d been drawn to him, to the brooding seductive snare he’d set and only after it was too late for retreat had she learned what kind of man he really was. Yet she hadn’t called off the engagement. She’d believed he would come to love her.
Boudreaux’s Lady Page 20